


and if i should fail what happens then

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Buster has dirty dreams and has allowed himself to be shaped by bad memories, Brandon is confused and for once, Tim is a voice of comfort and reason.</p><p>Title taken from Live to Rise by Soundgarden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if i should fail what happens then

“Slow.”

“But-”

“I _said_ slow.” Belt's voice is harsh, rough, and Buster stops, whines helplessly as he stills his hips to get himself under control. “Do as you're told.”

Buster takes a breath, tries to steady himself before raising up on his knees. He pushes back against Brandon, groaning when his boyfriend's cock stretches him open again. Brandon's whimpering, hips moving forward in the slow and measured thrusts that Belt had ordered him to give Buster. They're both obeying but it's so hard, when they're used to doing things their own way. But it's Belt. Neither of them had been able to resist.

There's a rough groan and Belt is moving onto the bed, brushing his thumb over Buster's lips and whispering for him to open up. Buster closes his eyes and obeys, moaning as the younger man pushes into his throat. He moans, pushes his hips back, would beg for more if his mouth wasn't so full and.

And he wakes up, panting and shaking with his boxers sticking to him. That's not right, so not right, he hasn't had a wet dream since he was a teenager. And for it to be over something like that. He takes a deep breath, wills the blush away from his cheeks. It doesn't help anything when he sees Brandon sitting up in bed staring at him. Buster flushes and shakes his head when Brandon asks what on earth he was dreaming about, choosing instead to go to the bathroom and shower.

He keeps the water chilly. Honestly, if he hadn't seen just how hung Belt really is the other day, he doesn't think he'd be in this situation. But he _did_ see it and now he's having dirty dreams about the guy. Buster just rests his forehead against the tile, shaking his head and cursing himself. When he gets out of the shower, he dries off and wraps the towel around his waist before padding into the bedroom. Brandon is watching him with interested eyes and Buster smiles, lets Brandon pull him down onto the bed for a kiss.

They tumble over, kissing and laughing and touching and it grows heated soon enough, Buster rolling his hips against Brandon's and laughing softly at the frustrated noise his boyfriend makes. Brandon bites his neck, makes Buster groan low in his throat and pant. He'd beg for more but Buster doesn't beg, ever. He can't, hasn't been able to in years. But he gives Brandon a look, squeezes at his arms, that silent signal that this needs to move forward. Brandon nods, pants and reaches for the lube and condoms in the nightstand. But then he's doing something he's never done before, pushing Buster over onto his stomach.

Buster immediately tenses up and shakes his head. “No.”

“What?”

“I said no. Let me flip over.”

Brandon's hands down move and he sounds more than a little confused. “Why?”

“Just please.”

“Baby...”

Buster just shakes his head, uses his own bulk to push Brandon away and off of him. He rolls onto his own side of the bed, staring at the ceiling. The mood is gone and he doesn't feel like it anymore. He doesn't think either of them does and he can't stand the plaintive look on Brandon's face and the way his boyfriend looks so hurt. Brandon's always worried about being rejected, being unwanted, being alone again. He'd never push Buster for sex, but he's definitely not taking the no well, taking it as a rejection.

He wants to apologize, to tell Brandon that it's not his fault but he doesn't know how to. He doesn't like talking about _it_ , talking about _it_ , and he doesn't want to explain it. He's still ashamed of it. Instead he whispers, “I'm sorry.” before rolling with his back to Brandon and going to sleep.

They talk very little in the morning. Brandon looks like he wants to try and he starts to speak a few times, but every time he gives up and shakes his head, sighing before wandering off somewhere else. Buster spends the day cleaning to try and keep his mind off of things and by dinner time, the house is spotless. Brandon mutters something about meeting up with Theriot for dinner and to hang out and Buster tries to answer before just nodding. Brandon gives him a look and leaves.

The house feels barren, empty without his boyfriend around and Buster texts Tim to come over to break up the monotony because he can't take the quiet. Tim comes alone, yawning that George and Javi had been way into a movie and wanted to finish it and he'd needed time away from them anyway. It makes Buster smile. The separate space and alone time they've been obsessing on is kind of sweet, because each one always ends up antsy and ready to go back to the other two before the time is actually up.

They order a pizza and play xbox, Buster losing himself in Halo. They drink and cuss each other and elbow each other and bomb eachother's avatars until the front door is swinging open. Brandon calls that he's home, flat and still not very cheerful. When he sees Tim, he gives him a stiff hey before saying that he's going to bed, trudging up the stairs without saying another word or turning around for a second glance.

Tim watches him and then eyes Buster. “What's wrong with him?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I don't care. Spill.”

“Tim- just.” Buster hesitates. Maybe it'll help if he talks about it. “We uh. I had a dream last night. And I woke up and showered and then we were going to um-”

“Fuck.”

“TIM!” Buster growls but Tim just looks smug and Buster sighs. “Yeah. That. But... he pushed me onto my stomach and I just locked up. I couldn't do it. I told him to turn over and let me up. He did but the mood was gone. I couldn't. We've barely spoken today.”

“What's so wrong with on your stomach? On your stomach is great.” Tim says it dreamily, leaning back on his elbows. “Gets so deep and then bam. Fucking amazing.”

“I had a bad experience.”

Tim's demeanor changes from sex addled and fantasizing to concern in an instant. He's more empathetic than most people would give him credit for, always feeling the pain of his teammates and sometimes turning it into his own pain. “What happened?”

“When I was in college. I'd just started fooling around with guys. There was this one. He was pushy. Wanted it even when I didn't, got mad when I didn't give him what he wanted. And I'd give him what he wanted, I always gave in in the end because I didn't want him to dump me. He liked putting me on my stomach. He was bigger than I was, taller and heavier if you can believe it. He'd use his weight to keep me in place. I can't do it like that anymore.” Buster shudders with the memories he's spent a long time shoving away and then takes a breath, shaking his head. “S'why I always have to be in control. Of everything. Brandon doesn't usually mind it. Sometimes he tops but I'm still in charge of all of it, the circumstances, the pace, everything.”

“So why don't you tell him that?” Tim asks. Buster can tell that Tim is wanting to demand that Buster spill everything, who the guy was and why he let the guy do that to him. Tim, though, he more than anyone knows what it's like to give in to what a guy wants to keep him from leaving. His fling with Pat Burrell being a prime example among so many other examples.

“S'stupid and I'm ashamed?”

“Shouldn't be.”

“Logically, I know that. But-”

“But shame and fear and someone's hold over you knows no logic. I know. Believe me, I know.” Tim says softly. He leans over and hugs Buster before climbing to his feet. “Go talk to him. Maybe don't tell him the rest if you're not ready but at least tell him that it's not his fault. He probably needs to hear that.”

Buster nods, sees Tim out and takes a deep breath. He cleans up their mess to steady his nerves before going up to his and Brandon's bedroom. Brandon is in bed in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp and sticking to his head. The spicy scent of his shampoo fills the room and Buster fights the urge to just breathe it in. Instead, he sits at the foot of the bed and watches Brandon typing on his laptop. Brandon looks at him before looking back down at the screen.

When Buster doesn't leave, he sighs and speaks without looking up, “What?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. If you didn't want to, you didn't want to.”

“It's not that. I just... I couldn't do it like that, okay? And it's stupid and I know I hurt your feelings and I'm really sorry, but Brandon, I can't.” Buster says, and he hates himself for the way his voice cracks. But Brandon's expression changes, going alarmed as he shuts his laptop and puts it to the side.

“What happened that it scares you that much? I'm not mad, I just want to know.”

Buster doesn't want to but he tells the whole story, about meeting Dylan at a party that he probably shouldn't have been at and doing something incredibly stupid by going home with the guy after only knowing him for an hour. About how the sex started out gentle and easy, like he really was teaching Buster how to do it right but then it became about pain and edges and roughness and seeing just how far he could make Buster go. How he used his size to control things and how it had almost destroyed who Buster was and made him into the man he was today: calculated, precise, in control at every moment and refusing to ever surrender that control.

To his credit, Brandon doesn't explode or interject like Tim or some of their other friends might. He listens quietly, never moving except to take Buster's hand and squeeze it. When Buster finishes and and looks him square in the eye, he just nods and uses his grip to pull Buster into a kiss. He pets his hand over Buster's cheek and hair before nodding again. 

“If you don't want that, then you don't want that. It's okay. You've got to tell me these things, Buster. If... when you just shut it down like that- I know you don't owe me anything. You definitely don't owe me sex. I just wish you would have told me why you didn't. I was feeling kind of rotten, like an asshole but then I was kind of mad at you because I felt like I'd done something wrong when I really hadn't.”

That's fair enough. Buster could have offered some sort of explanation when Brandon had given him that lost and confused look. He murmurs a quiet promise to try and be more up front in the future and Brandon takes it for what it's worth, but with something in his eyes that says he's also taking it with a grain of salt. Like he's expecting another incident of the same nature in the future. Again, it's fair enough.

He really doesn't feel like going to bed yet and he quietly suggests that they go out and do something, get some air. Brandon agrees easily enough, says that he and Theriot never got around to doing much more than eating and he's in the mood for a movie. At the theater, he picks a cartoon, childish and going from the advertisements, more than a little ridiculous but it's all good, because Buster is in the mood for something that will take his mind off of all of this.

When they're sitting in the darkness, previews flashing across the screen, Brandon reaches over and gently rests his hand on top of Buster's. Buster turns his hand up and laces their fingers together, squeezing before leaning over and sneaking a quick kiss, whispering 'I love you' before he's sitting back and looking at the screen again. He can see Brandon beaming out of the corner of his eye. Buster smiles.


End file.
